


Gamzee: Do something stupid (again)

by bull3tbunny



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Other, Out of Character (Probably), Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, gamtav is mentioned briefly, i didnt even know how to end it, idrk what im doing, ive never written this before, this is entirely projection, this was literally a mfin vent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29185257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bull3tbunny/pseuds/bull3tbunny
Relationships: Gamzee Makara & Karkat Vantas, Gamzee Makara/Tavros Nitram
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Gamzee: Do something stupid (again)

I've done it again, haven't I?

The all too familiar brush of your shaky hands on my face and gripping my shoulders is there, just the same as always, as the feeling slowly seeps back into my body. My eyes crack open, and I watch the relief flood your features with blurry vision.

Fuck, everything hurts. I don't know what I've done this time, not exactly, but I can guess pretty easily from the growing ache in my skull and the sting in my wrists. It's just the same as it always motherfucking is with me. My eyes are glued shut with what I can only assume is a mixture of face paint, blood and sopor, and I can just about see your hands and _fuck_ , you're so motherfucking shaky, Kar, and your hands are coated with purple. I sniffle pathetically as tears run lines through the gunk covering my face.

"M'sorry, Kar." I breathe, and the look you give me makes me want to sob.

"It's fine," You say, "I'm just relieved you're still fucking breathing," but I know how you really feel, Karkat Vantas. I know the truth no matter how hard you try to hide it. It shows itself in your movements, your voice, the huffs and sighs you let out, and the fact that you won't even reply to me for days after you leave now. I close my eyes again, and listen as you move around the room, to the slosh of water and then dripping, your feet on the floor as you move back over in my direction. You put something down, I think, and then your hands find my face and I sit as still as I can so you can clean my face. When you're finished I look at you with teary eyes.

"How did you...?"

"Tavros."

"Ah, right." I say, but truth be told I really don't remember any of the shit that led to me being where I am now, and probably have been for a good while, on the floor soaked in my own motherfucking blood. Was I talking to Tav? I look down at my arms, and tears drip into the open cuts there. Shit, that really motherfucking stings. 

"Hey," You say, and I look up. You're holding so much, from bandages and a bottle of something or other to shit you'd need to stitch up wounds, and I'm wracked with motherfucking guilt as you sit in front of me and take my hands, pulling my arms towards you a little for better access.

"How often do you have to do this shit?" I say, immediately regretting it. I clamp my mouth shut as I wait for a reply.

"What are best friends for?" You say, a hint of sarcasm in your tone. You sound so motherfucking tired, bro. You shouldn't have to deal with all my stupid motherfucking bullshit, not really. You say nothing else about it after that, but I know you're thinking _too fucking many._

"Karkat," I hiss as you pull the bandage just tight enough and clip it into place. "You shouldn't hafta deal with this."

"No?" Is all you say, sarcastic as ever, of-motherfucking-course, and there's a sea of words you bite back, I know there is. You take my left arm and begin to clean with skill learned over time from one too many a close call. I know I'm unwell, Kar, I'm so motherfucking sick, but that doesn't mean my best gutterblood brother needs to be leaving my hive with stained skin hidden under jumper sleeves, arms crossed up over his motherfucking chest or hands shoved into his pockets as he tries to calm his breathing.

There are so many motherfucking things you want to say to me, aren't there? I know there are and I know if I thought about it I could conjure up everything you've ever had to stop and think about. You're scared; either for me or of me, but I couldn't really be the one to say which one it is, if either of them, if not both of them. What I've done to others, what I've done to myself, I'm a motherfucking monster. I'm _supposed_ to be feared, I know. In my position I have so much power, but every single motherfucking drop of potential goes to waste with each pie, each handful of sopor, each time I sit hunched over a screen, fingers tracing over the letters there in peanut butter. I'm supposed to be feared, but it shouldn't be because you're afraid I'll off myself if you leave me.

You finish bandaging my arms and make sure they're both secure, and I watch as you lean over a water filled container- motherfuck, you really have to do this a lot, don't you- and begin scrubbing at your arms to try and remove as much as you can of the bright purple that's there, lest you get motherfucking culled.

"Please," I say when you stand again, sleeves rolled down and clothes being double-checked for stains. You put some of the supplies you brought with you on a nearby surface and turn to look at me. "Please?"

I need someone here. Even if you don't say fucking anything, just a presence is enough at this point. I need to know that I'm not alone, though I definitely don't deserve it. A hug, a pat on the shoulder, a few motherfucking words? Just a little reassurance that despite how unbelievably awful I am _someone_ might want me?

"I'm so motherfucking lonely, Karbro." I mumble, a smile stretching across my face as I laugh at just how motherfucking pathetic I sound, practically begging you, "Stay for at least a few more motherfucking minutes, please? A motherfucker be needing a bit of company every now n again."

"Okay," You heave out a sigh, and I never even realised you'd brought even more shit with you until you sat down next to me and handed me something I could actually eat, followed by a bottle of water. "I haven't exactly got anything else to fucking do."

So we sit, and I eat and you talk to me about anything and everything you got going on. I don't listen, not fully, but I manage to grasp the basics. I know you'll leave again soon, and I'll be on my own again. By worrying about it I've just fucked it up for myself again, as I always motherfucking do.

I wish you'd stay longer.


End file.
